Beautiful
by Trying to Break Your Heart
Summary: Dramione-6th year. Inspired by Eminem's "beautiful". EWE. Mostly cannon for Harry. M for violence self-infliction and Adult themes.
1. Ch 1

**Author's note: I am still working on strategy- I just have no idea where to go with it.. I've had this one in my head for a while, and I'll try to update as much as I can- School is out for summer now, so I should be able to. I hope you enjoy. I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters or places involved in this story... I just like them :)**

**xoxo- TtBYH**

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**Beautiful**

Hermoine Granger was always known for being Gryffindor's golden girl.

_Harry Potter's best friend._

_The famous bookworm_.

_The brightest witch of her age_.

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She acted like she was supposed to-she had a reputation to uphold. She studied the hardest, got the best marks in Hogwarts, and acted flawlessly… in public.

What nobody knew was that the pressure of that reputation was slowly tearing her apart.

Hermione was currently curled up in a secluded corner in the library staring blankly at the weathered pages of an ancient runes text. It was times like these that made her stomach turn. Harry was at another meeting with Dumbledore and Ron was probably snogging the living hell out of Lavender in the common room again.

A wave of hopelessness washed over her as she glared at a small ink stain on the corner of the book. How could she be studying _ancient runes_ of all things when the entire wizarding world was on the verge of destruction with the threat of Voldemort lurking in the air like a thick fog?

She sometimes wished she wasn't a witch at all. She would be going to a muggle school with blissful ignorance. Muggle friends. Muggle books. Muggle classes. She would be sitting on the plush sofa in the corner of her living room watching muggle television, or maybe reading a muggle book with her muggle parents.

_She would also be naïve and unaware of the true world around her_.

Hermione never let these thoughts go too far. She was so lucky to be a witch, after all. Even with the promise of war close in the horizon, she would rather live in an honest hell than a fallacious heaven.

She glanced down at the sleeves that covered her scarred forearms.

It started a few weeks after the battle in the Department of Mysteries. She had been alone in the kitchen of her childhood home. Her parents were working and she had felt a sudden urge, and within seconds she had grabbed a knife off a rack and lightly traced the edge across her arm.

The thin line quickly filled with scarlet that dripped down her arm. She felt no pain. For the first time in weeks, she had felt a wave of calm, followed by a delicious surge of adrenaline.

Nothing had been the same since. What had started as a rash decision voyaged rapidly into a glorious addiction.

Hermione shivered and self-consciously pulled her sleeves down further, as she picked up her books and started toward the library exit. She was walking hurriedly to the door when a small book fell off the top of the large pile in her arm. She carefully bent over to pick it up and, embarrassed, continued her walk to the exit with her head down… only to run straight into a hard something.

Hermione glanced up to see that something to be none other than a stormy-eyed and blonde-as-ever Draco Malfoy. He stared at her for a total of five awkward seconds before he hastily removed his hands that Hermione hadn't even noticed from her waist, and grumbled what she thought was an apology before sauntering past her.

She stood in the middle of the aisle in shock. Did they really just come in contact with each other without exchanging their customary _filthy mudbloods _and _stupid ferrets _?

Hermione shook herself and took a long route to the Gryffindor common room. Luckily when she arrived there was no sign of the heap of tangled limbs that was usually Ron and Lavender.

She didn't understand what he could possibly want with someone like Lavender. The girl was absolutely insane, and though they fought like brother and sister, Hermione had always thought she and Ron would end up together. She thought wrong.

Hermione gently climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitory, pleased to find it empty. She neatly placed her pile of books on top of her trunk and lay down on her bed. When she closed her eyes, she found Malfoy's staring intensely back at her again in the library.

She quickly opened them again. It was unnerving to think about Draco Malfoy without hundreds of insults springing to her head immediately.

Harry thought he was a Death Eater. A _Death Eater,_ for Christ's sake. The boy was merely sixteen as the rest of them. Why would Voldemort ever want someone so young in his circle?

He wouldn't. That was the only logical answer, and Hermione Granger was a very logical young woman. But, she couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't seen him strutting about the castle like he usually did. Every time she had seen him so far that year, he was for the most part, alone. When she would occasionally glance in his direction in the great hall, he was always separated from the rest of Slytherin house. _He sure had a lot of muscle for being so thin. _

_NOT _that Hermione was specifically watching Draco. She just noticed things. Like how amazingly vivid his stormy grey eyes looked as he held her earlier.

But nothing would ever come of it, of course, because even though he hadn't reminded her today, she would always be nothing but a lowly mudblood to him. And he would always be a smelly ferret to her.

That was one of the things that irritated Hermione the most about the wizarding world. Even though she was widely known for being the smartest young witch in all of Hogwarts, she was still looked down upon because of her muggle heritage.

Hermione turned her face into her pillow and let a few silent tears slip out. It was only four o'clock in the afternoon, but it was Sunday, and she was tired. She kicked her shoes off to the side of her bed, and fell into hauntingly dreamless sleep.

Hermione awoke to the sound of Lavender Brown violently singing a new _Weird Sisters _song about making love to a house elf. It was enough to make anyone gag. Hermione slowly sat up and cracked her eyes open into an instantaneous glare for the other girl.

All of her other dorm mates were quietly moving about their business, except for Pavarti Patil, who was lightly snoring in her sleep. Hermione, still in her clothing from the day before, made for a quick exit down the tower, through the common room, and into the nearest bathroom. She took a short shower and changed into her school uniform before returning to the dormitory to grab her books for the day and went down to the great hall for breakfast.

Hermione made for the Gryffindor table next to Harry and Ginny _and,_ as she noticed when she sat down, Ron sitting across from them alone with an enormous plate of food. She couldn't help but smirk a bit when she noted the lack of Lavender's presence. She wondered what hap-

"Hullo, Hermione. Where were you at dinner last night? We missed you!" Harry interrupted her train of thought.

She felt bad for Harry. Not only was he going through so much already, but he was so obviously in love with Ginny- who was currently dating Dean- and he constantly had to watch Ron and Lavender practically eat each other alive. Not to mention how he had been doing his best to comfort Hermione the entire time.

"I was studying late at the library and I forgot about dinner. It's okay though, I wasn't all that hungry anyway," Hermione lied. She found it easier to lie to people when she told herself it was only to prevent others from getting hurt. She was already self-destructive; she didn't need to destroy anybody else.

"You've been skipping dinner a lot lately, 'Mione. Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Harry and his damned concern for everybody else.

"I'm fine, Harry. If I wasn't, you would be the first to know," Hermione lowered her voice, "how was your meeting with Dumbledore last night? Did you fi-"

"WON-WON!" A distinctively obnoxious voice interjected, "_I've _been looking for you just _every_where, have you been hiding from me?"

Hermione tried not to vomit as Lavender attacked Ron's lips with her own. Harry and Ginny pointedly looked away.

"Er," Ron replied, "No of course not. Why would I ever want to hide from you?"

Hermione could think of about thirty reasons why _everyone _should want to hide from Lavender. She grabbed a slice of toast off of the rack in front of her and made a point of buttering it vigorously. Honestly, did the two have any respect for the population around them? She thought, perhaps, that they purposely did these things in public simply to make everyone else feel uncomfortable- which they did. By now about half of the Gryffindor table was trying their best to look away from the offensive couple.

Hermione took a small bite of toast, grimaced, and gave up. She hadn't been hungry very much lately. A small bite of anything was enough to fill her up for hours. She gathered her books into her bag, and took a last (and hateful) glance in Ron and Lavender's direction. She stood up from the table, and said with an eye roll to Harry and Ginny,

"I'm heading off to potions- I'll see you both in a bit."

"Hermione, you haven't eaten anything!" Harry replied with a pointed look.

"No, I ate some toast," she replied, "see you in potions." Hermione quickly strode to the great hall's exit.

Slughorn's class wouldn't start for another hour, but she couldn't stand being around Ron and Lavender any longer. Ron, she realized, was clueless for the most part. It was Lavender who enjoyed more than a little public display at any hour. She shook her head and tried to clear it of such spine-chillingly ugly images.

Having nothing better to do with an hour of free time, she made her way to her haven. She entered the library with a curt nod to Madame Pince, who greeted her with a "Goodmorning, Hermione," and sat down at the table in her quiet corner. She closed her eyes and thought about Harry, and how confused her poor friend was. Honestly, his life could never go the right way. She imagined herself in his position, and the ideas rang in her mind like furious bell. She obliviously reached into her bag, and pulled out a small shimmering blade. She imagined herself without her parents- _The knife draws closer _– being treated like garbage by her only family- _wrist turned upward _– she learns her godfather is a Voldemort-worshipping serial killer- _blade lightly pressed against skin_ – to find her godfather is actually innocent and develop her first decent familial relationship- _harder _– only to see said godfather murdered in front of your eyes and to be completely in love with someone who is already taken and to have an evil madman with thousands of supporters out to kill you and to have one of her best friends too in-love to see the light and to have her other best friend a know-it-all with the brains to compete Dumbledore, and really can't handle anything because she is too mentally fucked-up to take proper care of herself and secretly carves her depression into her arms because she has nowhere else to put it and life is fucking awful. _Blade pierces skin li-_

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Granger?" The soul-searing eyes of Draco Malfoy bored into hers as he clutched her wrist in one hand, and the small knife in the other.

"I-I was just…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Alright, so I'm almost done with my next Strategy chapter, but I couldn't help myself and decided to keep going with this one before I publish it. Thank you for the reviews! ALSO- If you find any mistakes, _please_ make sure to tell me so I can fix them. Other than that, I hope you enjoy! Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter** **:P**

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**Chapter 2**

He didn't know why, but Draco couldn't stop thinking about Hermione Granger.

Ever since the day before when she had run into him in the library, she was the only thing on his mind.

He had watched her rush out of the Great Hall, and letting his curiosity take over his body, he silently trailed her. When he walked out, he saw a flash a brunette curls and thin legs striding up the grand staircase. It didn't take a mastermind to guess where she was headed as he prowled the stairs behind her.

He had no idea why he was following her. She was a mudblood, and he never had any problem telling her so. Until yesterday, that was. He hadn't meant to grab her like that. It was simply his seeker reflexes. But there was no excuse for holding on to her the way he had. The same way there was no excuse for stalking her the way he was now.

Not, obviously, that it stopped him. He was going through so much, with his clearly impossible mission and the threats it beheld. What was a little stalking, now and then?

Draco reached the third floor and entered the library, where Madame Pince gave him a scowl. The only person she ever decided to be polite to was Hermione.

He stopped for a moment. What the hell was he doing? Following a mudblood for fun… what was wrong with him?

He paced up and down the rows of bookcases. He was following her because it was a distraction. A distraction from his mission and from his misery. But he had plenty of distractions. In fact, he had distractions lined up around every corner of the castle-starting with Pansy, who he would also like to avoid thinking about.

If the Dark Lord knew he was purposely sidetracking himself, it wouldn't be pretty. Draco tried to focus on fixing the cabinet in the Room of Requirement, but it was extremely advanced magic and the fate of his parents' lives was looming over his shoulders every time he worked on it.

He stopped his pacing before he would break down in the middle of the library. He looked around only to realize he was not in the middle, but in a very small and inconspicuous corner.

A corner in which Hermione Granger was coiled with a knife in one hand. A knife that was about to burry itself into her upturned wrist.

Before he could stop himself, Draco leaped to snatch the knife from her hand and gripped her bloody wrist.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Granger?" He asked, horrified.

She gaped at him with chocolate-brown eyes "I-I was just…"

Hermione shivered. A shiver that shook lightly throughout her body. Her entire arm rippled like a drop of rain into a puddle. Draco looked down at his hand grasping her wrist. It was covered in her blood. Deep, clear, seductive red. It looked _exactly _like his own blood.

He dropped the knife, and it fell silently to the ancient Persian rug that lined the dark wooden library flooring.

Draco dropped to his knees beside it, and still holding her wrist, ran his empty hand across it. His long, pale fingers spread the silky crimson up her petite arm. The same exact color of his own blood. Hermione continued to stare at him, eyes wide as he examined a drop of her own blood trickle down his palm.

"It's… It's the same…" Draco had always known deep down that the idea of mud running through muggles' veins was ridiculous. Still, after years of being convinced and convincing others that it was true, it came as a shock to him.

"Er… Malfoy… What are you doing?" Of all the people in the world, it had to be _him _to see her doing this. She wasn't even aware of herself. Excellent. He had been criticizing her for years. Now she would hear about how psychotically-deranged _mudbloods _were every time she'd see him. Which would sting much less if it weren't true.

"It's the same as mine," he replied confoundedly, "I suppose I always knew, just didn't want to, perhaps... wasn't allowed to." He looked up into her eyes. Fire and warmth clashed with storm and ice. Hers flamed. His thundered. She stared, dumbstruck. He did the same, but astonishment turned into fury.

"Why were you doing that, Granger?" Draco asked, perplexed.

"I-What are you talking about?" Hermione glanced down and thought quickly. Unfortunately, Draco wasn't an idiot.

"Let's see, how about sawing into your arm like you've gone mad? Are you cracked?"

"I _was not sa_-"

"Save me the denial, Mu_-Granger._" Did she think he was some kind of gullible moron? "Why would you do that?"

She looked him dead in the eyes, "You have no idea, Malfoy."

"Please. Tell me what could _truly_ be so completely terrible in the life of the _brightest witch of our age?_" He spat her title with his usual arrogant drawl.

"That's really none of your business, thank you." She gripped her wand, scourgified her arm and shot up. She gathered her books and started toward the exit, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her against him.

"That doesn't answer my question, Granger." He was entirely too close. When did he even stand up? She jumped backward, but he caught her hand, and she whimpered. He glanced down to see he was holding her freshly wounded wrist. Frowning, he turned it over, and saw dozens of little scars running up the length of her arm, along with the still-bleeding gash she'd just made.

"Please… Let go of me, Malfoy." She wouldn't meet his eyes, ashamed and embarrassed. Nobody was ever supposed to know about this. Everybody was supposed to think she was perfect.

"How long?" He asked carefully, "How long have you been doing this?"

Hermione wouldn't answer. She had too much pride for that. She was a Gryffindor: courageous, strong, and honest. She hadn't been any of those things. She had been cowardly, weak, and untrustworthy. Honesty was something she used to value more than anything in the world.

"A few months." She replied ruefully.

"_Fuck, _Granger." He muttered. "Why?"

She scrambled to find a logical answer, mortified. Then she became angry. "As I said before, it is none of your business. Let's just say that life as '_the brightest witch of our age'_ isn't always complication-free." She sent a last glare his way, "Have a nice day, Malfoy."

"All those because of a couple of exams? Really, you don't know what _complications_ are."

She dropped her bag back to the ground and yanked her throbbing wrist out of his. "I beg your pardon, Malfoy, but you don't understand anything. You know nothing about my life! Who are _you _to decide whether my complications are severe or not?" She tried to take a deep, calming breath before continuing, and failed, "You don't know what it's like to have to always act a certain way because you have a reputation and are always in the spotlight. You don't know what it's like to be forced to do things you don't want to."

"Really? Try me." Draco should have just let it go. He knew that, but his inquisitiveness pushed him to keep prying.

"I am best friends with Harry Potter. I am written about in rubbish magazines and newspapers. Rumors are made up about me out of nowhere. I have to act perfect all of the time, I have to get flawless grades on everything, and everybody always has something they expect me to help them with! Oh, and I almost forgot… my friends and I are constantly being hunted down by a maniac whom, by the way, plans to kill me and every other muggle-born on the planet!" Her face was flushed and her hands were balled up at her sides.

"Try being forced to work for that so-called maniac so that he doesn't kill everyone you love."

S_hit. Fuck. Oh Merlin, save him. _He had not meant to say that. He whispered it, really. Maybe she didn't hear…

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She had heard. That was unexpected. Or maybe perfectly expected… Harry would think so. But even then, she was stunned that he actually told her. He essentially just said he was a Death Eater. She studied him.

He looked tangled in his own emotions. His icy-blonde hair fell over his forehead and nearly covered his eyes. Dark, exasperated, hopeless, desperate eyes that were wide with shock. She could practically hear him cursing himself. Before he could stop her, she seized his left arm, and wrenched up his sleeve.

There it was. A sinister and malevolent tattoo covered the length of his forearm. The Dark Mark swirled.

Draco was mortified. And infuriated. Who did she think she was? He shook her off, forgetting how thin she was; she fell back into the chair she had been sitting in. He stalked over and whispered viciously into her ear, "I wouldn't do that again, mudblood. You haven't got a clue what _this," _he waved his mark in front of her, "can do to you. _This_ stands against everything you _are." _

Hermione knew exactly what it was. It stood for one of the prominent reasons she was degenerating her wrist only minutes ago. It terrified her, but even more so, it made her empathize with him. It was obvious that he didn't want it any more than she wanted her own struggles. But she could tell the last thing he wanted was her sympathy, so she tried a different route.

"Draco," she started, trying out his surname, "What do you mean he is forcing you to work? What's going on?"

He glowered at her, "That is, as you would say, none of your business." He quickly pulled down his sleeves again, "I think it would be best if we didn't share what we've learned today with anyone else." His lips were a whisper away from her ear, "Agreed?"

All she could do was nod. He smirked as he backed away from her. She closed her eyes to clear her head. When she opened them, he was gone.

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**So...What do you think will happen next? We shall see... Tell me if you: you love it? Hate it? Think it's complete garbage?-Please review! I love them :] xxx TtBYH **


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